Starry Nights and Kisses

Till death do us part (or maybe not)

Kaito Momota is dead.

Kaito Momota is dead

Kaito Momota is dead?

...

Right?

...wrong.

Kaito Momota isn't dead.
(but he wishes he was).

-

Laying still in his undead form, Kaito's breath hitches in his dry throat as the mocking breeze flutters in and tickles the curtains in his hospital room.

There's millions of words floating around the pitiful world right now, some resting in dictionaries and some flying from mouth to mouth -and some that never get said - but no amount of words or phrases or stupid metaphors could even begin to describe what he's going through.

It's pathetic.

He's pathetic.

Everyone else is probably going through much worse than what he is right now, so how selfish does he have to be to just stay here feeling sorry for himself. He should be out there right now, helping everyone. Telling them all it'll be okay and guiding them to a safe mindset (and ignoring his own).

Because that's what hero's do.

That's what The Luminary of The Stars would do.

But Kaito Momota is no hero. The ugly pulp of flesh and blood that rested with the press reminded him of that.
The sight still tears through his mind every night, ripping open his heavy eyelids and telling him how he unworthy he really is. The smell of coppery scarlet still haunts his dreams, both creeping it's way through his throat and drowning the whole hanger.

He can feel his chest rising and falling a little too fast and he wants to be grateful he's even breathing at all. But that's impossible when even after surviving his mind lingers on death.

Taking a deep breath of crisp air, his undeserving lungs fill once again and he climbs out of bed and tries to not to feel a like a corpse as he wonders down the hall like a zombie at god knows what time.

He doesn't know if this counts as coping of not, but he doubt his stupid therapist would say so.

Pushing through the doors of the cafeteria, Kaito tries to remind himself that it's going to be okay. Just come in, get a glass of water, and it'll be okay. It's not the first time he's left his room, but it sure as hell feels like it.

A small gasp and the shattering of glass drags him out of his thoughts and his cautious eyes dart up.

...

"..O-Ouma?"

There's a petite figure in the middle of the room, slightly hunched over in clothes that looked like they could drown him, and a broken glass on the floor resting unpleasantly in an ugly pool of miserable water.

No one says anything.

For an entire eternity, the silence cuts them up, drawing pretty red lines across their sore bodies until Momota finally hears a quiet noise from the other boy.

"Hey, what'd you say?"

The flinch recieved from the his own voice scared him more than anything.

"Whatever, Ouma. I'll be leaving now anyway."

And that's what he should be doing. He should be walking straight out, back to his room in this hellhole. He shouldn't be standing in front of his victim, like he deserves forgiveness or even a conversation.

...so why hasn't he moved a muscle?

The two boys stand awkwardly, the tension sharply ripping through the air, until Kaito remembers the broken glass on the floor.

"Are you going to clean that up?" He tries not to wince at how his voice sounds so harsh and unfamiliar like dusty concrete powder down his throat. But the other boy just shrugs a little and crouches down, picking up a shard.

He doesn't know who the gasp comes from when the little shard gently slices the skin on Ouma's finger.

Kaito immediately lurches forward, long dropped hero complex kicking in to help. Not that he gets very far though. As soon as he grabs Ouma's hand he slips out his mind into a much darker place.

...

Red.

Red blood. Blood again there's more blood oh god. Ouma's bleeding. Bleeding because of him, and the horrifying view of the press cuts into his mind. Kaito's still there, he's still in the hanger and there's blood everywhere. The disturbing smell crawls into his nose and slithers down into his lungs, suffocating him. Too much blood. It's on his hands when he flushes Ouma's clothes, and he knows he'll never be clean again after this.

Kaito's 's not even aware of the words tumbling out of his mouth, or his own unrecognizable hands gripping his hair as he mumbles "im sorry's" and more inaudible dying words.

He barely notices the small weak grip gently tucking his arms away from his head and how there's a figure too close to him.

"...ota-chan, momota-chan look at me."

An unsure voice slowly wriggles into his consciousness, and Kaito looks up like a doe caught in headlights.

Violet eyes collide with overly similar indigo ones and so many unsaid words are transported between them.

"Breath, okay? In and out, count to ten." Ouma doesn't even know what he's saying, but he's hoping it's at least some what useful. (or as useful as someone like him can be.)

Clumsily, Kaito tries following the instructions as best as he can and mentally scolds himself for being this vulnerable, this weak infront of someone. But it's worse. Worse because it's not just 'someone'. It's the boy, the living human being who's life he ended.

As if finally finding the words, Ouma gently says "It wasn't real. Just a simulation, we're alive. Snap out of it."

Some air finally finds it's way into Kaito's undying chest and he pants out a pitiful apology.

And once again there's silence echoing of the confining hospital walls and sneaking shyly around both of them, until someone finally decides to make a move.

And it's Ouma who does.

It's almost as if words would fail them if they even tried to use them now, and it's ironic because it's true. Maybe they're too broken for that, heads too messed up from the game. Maybe that's why Ouma just took Kaito's hand within his own, and began to leave the room.

Shattered broken glass left behind and unapologetically forgotten, Kaito wonders if they're going back to one of their rooms.

He doesn't know really.

But he thinks maybe he won't be spending this night alone at least.

--

(Ayo here's my absolute trash return sorry this is so bad)